Defining a Hero
by DreamEscape1675
Summary: When a remarkable young man races into Steve's life, both of their worlds change completely. Now he's faced with a difficult choice that he's never thought he would ever have to make again: becoming a big brother to the fastest man alive or a mentor to a young hero who lacks discipline. (Flash and Captain America crossover)
1. Chapter 1

**Defining a Hero**

**All characters belong to Marvel and DC Comics**

**I own nothing**

* * *

It was a very early December morning, Captain Steve Rogers pounded his feet aimlessly against the ice encased cement that around the National Mall. His massive body cut through the white curtains of flurries like a silver bullet against winter's fury.

He felt the benumbing wind slashed over his chiseled jawline as he sprinted fervently against the wispy flecks of snow whipped and obstructed his bleary vision as his stern crystal blue eyes focused ahead of him.

"Right to left," he panted out, feeling the frost air enter his lungs as it seared the bones of his rib cage. He was doing his morning routine, staring at four in the morning before hitting the gym. It was normal start of his day. Sam Wilson his new wing man was overseas with Tony Stark testing out flight equipment. He was alone during his three mile traverse.

The cold barely affected him, because the super-soldier serum laced in his heats kept his body temperature at a higher level than the average human being. Heavy flows of blood pumped fast in his veins; his broad and vigorous muscles burned as feverish sweat expelled from his pores. Steve felt the firm skin of his pectorals ripple underneath the layer of his gray hooded sweater. Golden tresses of hair swathed over his gleaming forehead as he made his sharp turn and steadied his breath. Then suddenly, his bones were jostled by a surge of energy, a bright red streak invaded his gaze; making him halt in his tracks within a second he saw drops of maroon paint over the crisp blanket of snow in front of him.

He blinked to regain of his vision before he froze within a heartbeat, and blankly stared down at the figure in red leaning against the frozen bark of oak, clutching his wounded side. Cautiously, Steve neared closer, just enough to stare at a young man dressed in a skin tight dark maroon uniform with a cowl covering his face. His heart flipped -flop in his chest, as he leveled his blue eyes with teary grayish seawater colored eyes, and watched a line of watery blood trickle over the strong jawline. He kept his distance, showing the other man that he wasn't a threat. "Excuse me?" he raised his voice, firm and ragged with a hint of concern. "Can I help you out there, son?" he asked, knowing that whoever it was hiding behind the cowl, the boy was around early twenties and lacked discipline. "I'm not going to hurt you, but I see that you're bleeding."

"I made a wrong turn," That was the first thing the young man uttered out before a small crooked smirk crossed his split lips, and then a shy, embarrassed grimace. He labored out heavy coattails of breath as his strained chest heaved against his armor. He spared a glance at Steve, unsure and a bit guarded, and then he blinked the red fog out of his glazed blue eyes. He was bleeding and bruised. "This wasn't out I wanted to start my morning." He hoarsely said, lowering his head down, and sucking in an intake of cold air. "I think I need a coffee...My sugar levels are down. This is bad."

"I take it you don't live in the city?" Steve affirmed hushed and serene; inching closer to wounded man, braying out rapid breaths. "I can help you, but you need to tell me your name in case you pass out, son."

"I am Flash. My home is Central City...I would give you more details, but at the moment I'm a tough time figuring out even I stand on my own feet." he smirked, and latched his hand over the tree for support. "Yeah, I know that you seem a bit confused about me...I'm fastest man alive when it comes to saving people and sometimes the slowest when talking to strangers."

Steve smiled back despite the rife of his concern for the hero, and extended his hand out, "Steve Rogers," he said, watching the Flash's eyes light up with bewilderment as his gloved hand gripped over his with a firm shake of introduction. " I take it that you have heard about me, Flash?"

Flash nodded, his heart thudding against his fractured ribs. "You're..." He took a moment to gather something intelligent to say back to the towering super-soldier. He swallowed a lump down his throat. Reality snapped back into his disjointed mind. "You're him...Captain America...The Living Legend." he responded with an admiration in his raspy voice. "It's a great honor to meet you, sir."

"Thank you, Flash." Steve said, his blue eyes gleamed with trusting light, and he took a step back, admiring the Flash's costume. "I like you uniform, a classic emblem of power and the mask reminds me of my own helmet, except for the lightning bolts at the ears."

"Anything you say I will take as a complement, Captain Rogers." Flash lightly smirked, trying to ignore the thralls of pain twist in his abdominal muscles. "I can't believe that this actually happening to me...I never thought it was possible fora little guy like me to meet Captain America." Steve placed a gloved hand over his broad shoulder.

" I believe in the impossible, but meeting you has given me the strength I need to carry out this fight-" he stammered, feeling his stomach churning as drops of blood dripped from his blemished lips. His head was ringing in pain and everything obscured into a crimson vortex, every image of his past-his mother's lifeless body, cell bars and Iris dissolve with a haze. His lips stung where it had been split by a ramming fist, his temples were throbbing, and he gripped Steve's strong as an anchor to harbor him back to conscious as the world fell way. The taste of molten copper greeted him, he could smell the drenched blood over his suit, and listened his own powerful heart pounding in his ears, blocking out the only thing that he saw was darkness. Steve knew that he needed medical assistance. Fast.

"Flash," he whispered soft and unimposing; he secured the young man under his arm, like a brother in arms. "Can you hear me?" he issued, applying pressure of the gaping wound. "Stay with me, son."

Flash coughed up more blood, crying helplessly, and droplets spattering over his jaw from his mouth and dotting his ashen skin. "Blood...Poisoned...Toxin." he gagged and gasped. "I'd tried to save..." he struggled through gritted teeth, spitting out blood over Steve's sweater.

"It's okay," Steve soothed. He draped the Flash's limp and laden arm around the back of his neck, hauling along his battered form against his torso. Flash's red boots trawled against the snow with light grace of as a small boy, topping and staggering. Every time he breathed, spasms invaded his chest and he'd jerk against Steve, coughing.

"Why are you doing this..." he managed to slew out a few unsteady breaths. "I don't deserve your help. I'm not a hero."

"You save lives in your city by taking the risks of your own life. You're a hero in my eyes, Flash." Steve commended, with a firm voice, making his trek over the snowy landscape, and towards the pavement. "I never leave the little guys behind..."

Flash smiled wryly, "I learned from the best, Cap." He echoed back, and then his eyes closed as he completely entered an unconscious state.

Steve narrowed his crystal blue eyes at the young man, "Don't worry, Flash...Your life is in my hands." he whispered, his voice trailing away in the clusters of falling snow.

He pulled out his cellphone and dialed Natasha's secured, and waited for a light groan of annoyance to invade his ears before saying, "Nat, I need pick up at me triangulated location. I have a severely wounded young man here with me, and he can run everywhere."


	2. Chapter 2

**_{2}_**

* * *

_"It's okay, my beautiful boy," Nora Allen said, gently dabbing a washcloth over his bruised jaw, blood smeared underneath his nose, and tears rolled down his pallid cheeks. Barry hated defeat. He always looked weak and frail, everything week he'd come home with a bloodied nose, or a few scratches on his tiny face. He had become the prime target for this grade school bully horde. It had become a cold and discomforting feeling to lose a fight when he took a stand, and shielded another boy, smaller than himself in the schoolyard._

_In the result of his defiance, he was thrown to the ground, punched in the stomach, and had his bones jostle with a blow to his jaw. Despite the thralls of lingering pain and brokenness in his body, he never felt more warmth and security to know that he wasn't alone. His light blue eyes fell to his mother's beauty and gentle features, she sat on the edge of his mattress, staring at him with assurance in her angelic blue eyes obscured by long strands of auburn._

__Carefully, she swiped ____the dried blood off his blemished cheek, "I'm proud of you, Barry."__

__Nora smiled sweetly, "You defended another boy from your school when no else did. You were a hero today, Barry." She turned her gaze to the stack of comic books of Captain America on his nightstand. She extended out her hand, and grabbed one from the pile. "I remember when your grandfather gave these to you for Christmas when you were there, you are so excited to read them that you raced into the kitchen and went under the table, and you stay there for heroes reading the wartime adventures of America's greatest hero.__

__She stroked her fingers through his mop of dark hair. "You remind me of Steve Rogers," Barry's blue eyes flickered to the book clutched in her other hand. "He started out just like you did, small and always a target for bullies to pick on, but he never backed down from a fight. He took the punches and stood his ground, and then he was chosen to become Captain America, it wasn't because he was strong and brave, but that he was a good man who fought for the little guys."__

___Barry lowered his eyes to the scraps on his hands, and he sighed, earnestly. "I'm not like Captain America; he doesn't run from a fight. Not like I do."___

____Nora shook her head, softly. "You run, but you always come back, Barry." She leaned forward and pressed a soft on his forehead. "Cap would be proud of you."____

_____Feeling her warmth cloaking around his battered form, Barry's eyes drifted shut, and he whispered, "You're my hero, mom." he smiled weakly. __"Always will be..."_____

* * *

The smell of brewed coffee permeated the air. A dimness of gray morning light filtered from the drapes hung over the frosted windows. The warmth layering blankets toasted remnants of security over his broad flesh, and kept his restless body imprisoned in the folds of sheets. His eyes fluttered open, and eyelashes battered over his cheeks.

Instantly, Barry peeled his eyelids open to reveal bleary grayish irises that held swirls of cobalt under the obscurity cloaked over his bruised face. He blinked, too dazed to care if he still wore the red cowl, but then a faint groan escaped his lips as his hands fumbled over the pillows, and he desperately tried to hide his face the bleak light illumining the now strange room.

"Where am I?" he whispered in a groggy tone, barely familiar to his ears. "What time is it?" He screwed his eyes shut and tried to fall back into the feverish abyss, his temples were pulsing. Exhaustion clawed at him, and he felt pressure in his abdominal muscles.

He endeared pain for fourteen years placed his life on hold and allowed the vengeance of his mother's death consume everything around him. Many of times he wanted to run away from it all when the dull ache reentered his heart, the world had changed in his absence, and divisions were keeping him from taking a stand against fear and guilt. He carried everyone's burdens on his shoulders, observed their emotions, and saving dozens of lives without truly knowing why he was chosen to be struck in that the lightning storm and have his DNA strands altered beyond human coding.

Barry broke sound barriers, punched metal, lost pints of blood during his fights against the mega humans and watched people lose their humanity because of the corruption between choice and power. He still lacked discipline and the tried to avert himself from the impasse of life and death, but he had a heart. That organ that pumped in rapid pulses of speed in his chest was his greatest strength to use when nothing else seemed to matter-no speed force, no recreation of damaged cellular structures or his daring spirit.

When it all mattered, the choices were weaved by unbreakable threads of logical error and free will, he protected lives by racing into the range of the bullet, and taking the pain for them. It was necessary to sacrifice.

_The lightning bolt chose you for a reason. You can do the impossible Barry because you have the heart to._

He didn't want to be awake. He felt defeated. He fought against the dull aches penetrating in his bones, but everything was spinning out of control in his unfocused mind. Swirls of red and flashes of yellow grew violent, and he thrashed his arms up, reaching for something to grasp, to help pull him out of the delirium.

His slender body writhed under the blankets, chest elevated with heavy coattails of breath and light stabbed against his sealed eyelids. Foggy images of Joe and Iris gripped his mind, making him feel like the world was moving fast-forward and he was stuck in slow motion. His heartbeat consumed his ears, as he trembled against the chills, feeling his body regress against the unknown toxin that was shot into him during the fight in the alley back in Central City.

He didn't keep both eyes open, he wasn't a step ahead of the game, and in result of his lack of discipline to judgment, he got wounded severely, and he raced out of the city. He thought his high active metabolism would sweat out the poison, but he made the wrong turn and ended up here in Washington D.C

After meeting Captain Rogers, he blacked out in the snow, and placed his trust into a noble and resilient man he believed in when he was a little boy.

A hand placed a drenched cloth over his forehead. It felt good in the midst of the fever that he fought. "Flash." whispered a familiar masculine voice that was firm and laced with concern.

Involuntary, Barry reacted to the voice, and darted his glazed eyes open, he found himself staring into the crystal blue eyes of his childhood hero. Steve was a vision of sheer radiance against the darkness of his misery. Steve was everything Barry had imagined him to be from the comics, a modern age Adonis-hulking muscles that would intimate the brooding Oliver Queen, stunning blue eyes with clear hope welled in his stern gaze, dirty golden hair that was spiked at the hairline. His chiseled face and the healed scars of his past and guilt.

He was unfocused on his own life, and yet he still protected the lives of strangers with his wits and shield. He was the perfection of valor and heroics, a true patriot and justice fighter. He was Captain America.

"You okay?" Steve addressed with the brush of sincerity in his voice." Last night was a bit rough, but somehow you managed to pull through after a nurse I know extracted the bullet out of you."

"It sure doesn't feel like the bullet was removed, Cap," Barry said through clenched teeth. He lifted himself up, and leaned the muscular planes of his back against the wooden headboard. He took a moment, and released a heavy gulp of air, trying not to convey his defiant exterior in front of Steve. His hand pressed over the cotton gauze swathed over the lower half of his torso. "I didn't mean to ruin your night," he whispered in a hoarse voice, his throat raw and tongue thick as he leveled his stare with Steve's bright eyes. He felt his blood churn under the intense stare of the super-soldier. He choked up his words, almost sounding incoherent. "I had no intention on coming here... It was an accident." he said breathlessly.

Steve shook his head, faintly, "Don't worry about it, Flash. I just wanted to make sure that you were okay." he replied, and placed the cloth into a bowl. "Besides, I don't the mind the company." he tried to strike up a conversion with the young dark haired man, feeling awkward. He curved his lips into a light smirk, and eased back against the chair at the bedside.

"You can heal very fast. The nurse couldn't believe how little time it took for your gunshot wounds to seal up without medication. That's something only a few people that I know can do, but it usually takes a few days. With you it was only two hours."

"My name is Barry Allen, Captain Rogers." the young man begun with his eyes latched onto Steve. "I am the fastest man alive. I wasn't experimented on with injections of the recreation of super-soldier serum. I was hit by lightning that molded particles in my body after the chemicals split over me and I was stuck in a coma for a few months. During that period of stasis, the energy that shot through me altered my DNA and giving me powers that my friends back at Star Labs call speed force." he explained thoroughly, with a bright smile creeping over his lips."I can do the impossible, break the sound barrier, run on water, scale buildings within a second. I don't abuse my powers, I use them to save people... and occasionally defend the little guys in back alleys."

Steve gave him a serious look, his eyebrows creased as he stared down at Barry, "Speed force," he parroted, in a low voice. He placed his fisted hand under his chin, and pondered for a long moment. "That's pretty cool. I can run fast, but I can't break the sound barrier just Sam Wilson's pride during our morning runs. The uniform is what you use has a symbol of freedom in your city?"

Barry drew out a long breath, he had been holding, "Yeah, you can say that," he answered sheepishly, and then suddenly his blue eyes widened as he patted his face, and then he stammered with bedazzlement. "'Wait... My mask?"

"Don't worry, I know how to keep a secret," Steve assured, curling his lip into a firm line. "I made breakfast if you're ready to eat, but don't refuse a meal when you're wounded. It will help keep your strength up."

"I'll take that into consideration, Cap," Barry noted the super-soldier's concern, his eyelids were growing heavy. He felt the bile lapping in his tensed stomach, and he groaned. "How about instead of breakfast... I'll catch up on dinner. I'm buying it because it's the least I can do after you saved me, Captain America."

"I appreciate the offer, Barry," Steve responded in modest voice, placing his hand firmly on the young man's shoulder, "I'm taking care of you while you recover. My kitchen will be always open when you need something. Now, get some rest, I'll be in the living room working out and if you need anything, just call out my name or whatever name comes to mind." he lightly smiled, "I'm glad we finally met each other, "he said sternly. " It's been a long time since I had a good friend staying under my roof."

Barry smiled; he couldn't restrain his jovial emotions. "It's a real honor to have Captain America as a friend, sir-" He slurred as his eyes drifted shut, and he fell back into a deep slumber.

Smiling to himself, Steve lifted the red cowl off the floor, and looked hard at the mask while he whispered, adamantly, "He's a good kid... When he's older Barry will become a great man."

* * *

**A/N: A big thank you to all the readers. (All spelling edits have been corrected.)**


	3. Chapter 3

**{3}**

* * *

The apartment was absent from sound. It was early Friday morning, most of the bustling traffic faded out. Most of it. Barry staggered down the hallway, half conscious and wincing in pain. Wearing one of Steve's black T-shirts and sweatpants; he paused in front of a framed black and white photograph of the Howling Commando's standing behind Captain America holding the flag of his country. Too many memories were captured in that picture of young soldiers, friends and brothers. He understood the price of freedom since his father was a doctor who befriended war veterans at his practice.

It was a strange feeling and a little overwhelming to believe that he was standing in the home of the greatest American hero, the valiant soldier who led a nation to victory against the Nazis, HYDRA and the murderous and debased mind of Red Skull and saved dozens of lives by carrying his shield into the flames of destruction and guarding the weak and injured with his own body and noble spirit. It was hard to remember what it felt like to be a hero, all the sacrifice and burdens to carry in the seconds when life and death hung in balance. And it was even harder to believe that he was a symbol of freedom, that he could become a great legend if he erased all the doubt in his speeding heart.

Seeing the pictures of Captain America and the entire Commando's he felt an empowering measure of strength, hope and confidence wash over him. He felt renewed by his failures, and couldn't help but pull his lips into a weak smile as his grayish-blue eyes fell onto the towering warrior of justice and peace encased between a barriers of glass. It was a remarkable feeling as his eyes lingered over the photographs of asthmatic shell of a boy wearing a US military uniform that seemed to be too large over his small stature, but the boy's blue eyes held determination and resilience, and that was something Barry needed to gain back before he could decide to race back into battle.

It felt like an infinite chasm dividing him from responsibly and fear. The wounds of his last battle still penetrated deep within him; making him feel drained with no sense of purpose to push back the dread and face the storm.

He felt like a broken man, standing there, staring at true powers without speed force and the haunting images of death of a love one. His youthful face in the reflection of the glass looked...strange. Strange and unfocused. There was no gleam of fire in his seawater colored eyes, just a haze of grayish of a building tempest ravaging and twisting his despondent soul. A harsh thump in his chest and pain emerged in that moment when he forced himself to step an inch closer to the memorabilia of a young and cocky dark haired soldier named James Buchanan Barnes, other known as Bucky. He saw friendship, he saw trust, and he saw a promise. Bucky was smiling, widely and brotherly.

It was everlasting sense of a brother's love, an unbreakable devotion that Barry had never felt because his best friend was Iris, he never had a big brother to turn to when things got dark and bullies pushed him down. He only had Joe, his father figure and guardian -his family. His brave composer, already was shredded by his failures, was failing him, and he dropping his chin to his chest, releasing a sigh of disdain that was unnoticeable.

Then, his eyes peered closer at the most clearest and detailed photo of Barnes, reading the invisible words of the soldier, there was something familiar about him that he couldn't place, he took a moment to register clusters of images from his mind, and then felt a sense of recognition that assailed his heart. He'd seen that expression before on a stranger, Caitlin Snow's fiancé, Ronnie Raymond, a good man who died when he sacrificed his life and his life with Caitlin to contain the pulses of energy. There was something about this man who reminded him of Ronnie, maybe the haunted blue eyes and handsome face...or maybe it was something else.

He blinked quickly and withdrew a step back, and drew out a sharp exhale. "Ronnie..." he whispered out a strained breath, sensing a towering presence behind him. He was hesitant, daring himself to glance around, but he froze up before his eyes roved over his tensed shoulder.

There he was, the incredible man he used to pretend to be as child: Steve Rogers. Barry instantly sagged, his posture, and leaned against the molding of the door as he tried to configure the right emotions to express in front of the super-soldier, after all he did enter a passage of time, well, Steve's time. He steadied his breath, and turned around as his breath hitched, it was obvious that he grew ashamed of his own life, and allowed his voice to stay locked in his throat. Steve gave him a hint of a warm smile. "I see you found some photos of the men of 107th," he said adamantly; down-casting his light cerulean eyes. "They were men who'd lain down their lives to protect the right of freedom. Some paid at a great price and others got rewarded with a good life."

Barry chanced looking at him. Steve wasn't a man to express his inward pain, he kept in buried within, but his misty eyes always betrayed him; even at his greatest strength he felt the anguish of his rectifiable guilt. He didn't wear the radiance of Captain America's semblance; he was different, more natural to the elements of city life. His face cleaned shaven, and his blonde hair unkempt under a dark baseball cap with the symbol of the Avengers etched in the center. He was dressed in a gray hooded sweater and track pants hung smug around his waist, and his skin glazed with feverish sweat, but his stern eyes held their stare on the younger man.

Barry stammered out quickly, "I didn't mean to offend you by looking at these pictures of your friends, Captain Rogers." he said earnestly, in the back of his mind he that it had been a crime of intrusion. He pulled his lips into a frown. Steve was aware of his distress. "It must of have so cool to lead those men into battle; like a mean look at all of you...heroes and friends."

Steve proudly looked at his Howling Commando's, intently gazing at the very picture of his best friend. Then he settled his gaze on the young man standing in front of him. "You're a hero, Barry," he said with a firm measure of admiration in his deep baritone. "Though, you don't dress like a soldier," he stepped closer, and gently placed his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "You are one inside..."

"Coming from you, Cap, I'll believe it," Bucky curved his lips into a small grin that reached his eyes, before he asked the obvious question, "So how did feel transforming into the super-soldier?"

Steve took a deep breath, "Well, it hurt at first with the injections, but I didn't give up the fight, Barry. I was weak in my body, but never in my spirit and held that within me as the pain increased and muscles grew...I never lost myself inside this body. I stayed a good man and held my promise to never allow my true self...You know the skinny kid from Brooklyn to become lost."

Barry stared at him, tears building in his eyes, "My powers weren't given to me by choice," he managed to smirk, despite the invasion of pain coursing through his system, "I'm a scientist, always looking for the impossible because it is what keeps me going...That night after the lightning storm and the surge of power, I thought I died, my heart stopped and I lost all conscious...Until he woke up among good people I have come to care about; people who have lost everything because of miscalculations towards the capacity of human error." Steve furrowed his eyebrows at this, as he continued with more confidence in his voice. "I lost my mother fourteen years ago...She was murdered in front of me, trapped in a vortex of yellow energy and I couldn't save her." He took a moment to breath, to collect himself, and regain his sense of soldiery.

"I have lived with that guilt for a long time, my father was thrown into a prison cell and my life was a standstill that left me alone to solve this mystery. After I got my powers, I understood the reason why the lightning bolt chose me..." he trailed off, his blue eyes fixed at the image display of Captain America. "I've been running all my life and the fears seem to chase after me...I may not be an Avenger, but I know the price you pay when you wear a hero's mantle and sometimes my heart slows down just to feel it." he said with thickness in his throat, he looked disgruntled. "Now, I have a choice to run forward or backwards..."

Steve smiled at that, nodding very subtly at Barry's words, barely feeling the searing coldness of his own past seep back into the guarded shields of his heart. The captain within him saw Barry as a wounded soldier who had lost his way home while the compassionate and caring man that Steve Rogers wanted to reach out to him and offer some cadence of hope as spoke, «The choices you make will define you, son even the bad ones..." he said, gripping Barry's shoulder that forced the younger man to lift his head and stare into the fathomless light shining in his bright eyes. "I understand your pain of losing a loved one when you had a chance to do something..." In that second, he thought of Bucky...Not the lethal killing machine, but his blood brother."You wish every day that you could have taken that extra leap of faith just to hold onto them a second longer..."

"Imagine if we could go back in time and mix everything, I know it sounds impossible because if we did the rifts of time could be effected and future would end up different. Or rather darker than what we've lost." Barry said, moving away from Steve. He had to run. He forced every muscle in his body to jolt, but the virus in the bullet kept him from taking another step. He breathed out a shaky exhale, "My friend Joe is only I have close to father, and my best friend Iris. She's...»

"The right partner?" Steve interrupted, with gleam of utmost understanding in his blue eyes. His lips parted as hint of his suffering escaped as images of Peggy Carter, his love reentered his mind, her bright and fiery brown eyes obscured by chocolate ringlets and red lips. He promised to take her dancing in another lifetime, but time stole her from him, and small part of him felt ashamed and betrayed because he never grabbed the right courage to hold her into an embrace and allow her to lead him into a slow dance. It had been increasingly difficult to see Peggy trapped inside an old woman's body and lost in thralls of dementia, but he kept his promise and every week he paid a visit to her, despite the situation that he couldn't save her from. Now, he finally saw a young man, almost the same age of when he first enlisted, caring and determined to save everyone in his life. He saw himself in Barry, they eyes reflected the other's defeats and victories. "Iris is your best girl that you've promise yourself to dance with?"

Barry winced a little and then lowered his eyes, "If only it were true, Captain Rogers." he sighed, long and hard. "She is someone's best girl, a good man who fights for justice and everything we stand for..." He nearly choked out his words; feeling a dull ache in his chest, and split open his heart. "I just want her to be happy."

"That's only the half of the answer, Barry," Steve replied, staring at him as they both entered momentarily silence. "Someone once told me to always fight," he whispered, even though it was spoken with regret. "I've lost the woman I loved because of sacrifices. I saved the world, but I couldn't save myself from this life of endless war between order and chaos. She had a good life, married a soldier and had a family. Her life was full of accomplishment and fulfillment. I missed it because of my choice to carry out the mission." Steve moved closer to a table underneath a wartime poster of the Commando's and made an effort to lift a tarnished photo frame of Peggy close to his chest. Again he curved his full lips into a frown, and stared at the image. "I wish I could go back in time and take her dancing," he whispered.

Barry inched closer. "There is someone else you want to dance with I think it's the Russian spy who goes on missions with the Avengers. I know she's named after that deadly species of spiders in the Amazon...The Black Widow?" Steve grimaced at that, not because it was true, but because Barry could see right through his emotions. "It's okay, I've got a few partners back in Central City, one of them is this amazing hacker and the other is a doctor who helps me recover from battle...There was one I sort have had deep concern towards because I wanted to save her. She was a young sergeant and also mega human, but her powers were unstable like a time bomb and I watched her die..."

"She died?"

"Yeah," Barry answered with faint brush of remorse in his voice. "She was corrupted with revenge and in result of her choice she got herself killed, and I had to race into the water far away from my city and place her in the deep because if I didn't the mass of her body exploding would have destroyed everyone in matter of seconds...Her name was Plastique."

Steve nodded, quietly, "I know that feeling of loss," he said, crossing his broad arms over his chest. His eyes stung. He couldn't help it. "It seems to me that you suffered a lot in a short period of time...I have a friend would might have been able to help this Plastique, but I think in a way Barry you already saved her."

Barry stood tall, basking in the presence of his hero, and felt his strength slowly returning to him. "I think there's a reason why I've come here, Captain Rogers, my friend Joe says there is always a reason, I never use to believe in those words, but now I do." He couldn't make himself say anything more, to give the captain before him the honest truth that suddenly became a painful knot in his throat. He smiled reassuringly, and walked over to Steve, placing his hand on the super-soldier's shoulder; feeling the strength and surges of power. Silently, he looked up at Steve; he didn't have to say anything. He knew that they both needed a friend to guide them across the battlefield. And he was going to be Captain America's friend.

"Now, do you want some breakfast?" Steve asked, gesturing a hand towards the kitchen. "I can make you anything you want..."

"A dozen pancakes?" Barry laughed, trying to ease off the tension in the air between them. "Lots of coffee.."

Steve furrowed his eyebrows, amazed at Barry's request, and then mirrored his laugh, "Let me guess, you have a high metabolism?"

Barry shrugged, with a sheepishly grin, "Yeah, I can't even get drunk if I tried...I burn everything out."

_Sounds familiar..._

"Come on, son," Steve begun to walk towards the kitchen area, listening to Barry's hushed footsteps behind him. "I'll make you a big breakfast."

Barry smiled; he couldn't help it, "Just gave me the orders of what you want me to do in the kitchen, Cap."

Steve turned around, with a daring smirking playing on his lips, "How fast can you set a-"

_*Whosh*_

Before he could take a step forward, a red blur invaded his kitchen and plates, glasses and silverware were placed on the table. Steve stood in the hall, dumbstruck as his blue eyes trained on Barry sitting in chair with a glass of orange juice in his hand. He nodded with an amused grin, and said under his breath, "That fast..."

* * *

**A/N: Thank you to everyone for reading and following this story. Lots more to come.**


	4. Chapter 4

**{4}**

* * *

_There are storms you can never seem to outrun. _Fighting to break out of his mundane, Barry took a deep and shaky breath; willing his mind way from the ridges of memory. Drenched and shivering against feverish chills, he stood in front of Steve's apartment's door; he allowed his passive gray eyes to drift over the darkened area and dug into the pocket of his jeans and removed a key. Silently, he unlocked the door and slipped through the doorway.

Suddenly, he was assaulted by the recurrence of intense images that had invaded his tortured mind. Nevertheless, Barry felt utterly despondent and vulnerable. Every sacrifice he had endured through the trials of being Central City's hero caused greater lost.

It was the price.

There was no easy way out of the gale forces he had tried to escape from. Barry was entering a dead pass -his choices and heroics were no longer a ease of victory, but a heavy burden that seemed to drain the strength and mind. It was a horrible and dangerous game that he played with the metahumans and the hidden truth of what really happened that night of the explosion -that defining moment when the lightning struck him and transformed him into something that maybe believed was impossible—the Flash—the fastest man alive who raced through time and fought darkness bonding into hearts of humanity. Although, Barry would never admit it, he was growing weak, and it wasn't the aftermath effects of the bullet. It was something deeper.

There were tantalizing fragments of memory, weaved into knotted threads of guilt. They surrounded him. Dark phantoms. Gravestones. A encroaching storm. Red and intense bolts of lightning devouring the sky and emerging from every chasm. Each one struck him hard. Agony flooded into his veins and thundered rattled through the dark storm front powerful and deafening. His heart. _Running._ Running faster through the red haze of rain, struggling to fight the pain, struggling to find his way back home.

Desperation rattled through his bones and he saw the shattered reflections of the man in yellow—the Reverse Flash emerging out of the jagged pieces and reaching to drag him into the vortex. And no matter how much he fought. There was no way out. Everything was distorted, as he caught a glimpse of his mother screaming in the middle of the violent tempest.

Nora was calling out his name to save her before the knife pierced her heart. Failure. Dread. He felt numb as crystalline fractals spread through his body, as mirror shards merged, encasing him into a prison of dark imagery. He was crying, surrendering. He saw death claim his mother-the yellow streak of energy devour her. She was gone.

_One choice. Whether good or bad can change your life forever...The question is will you chase the darkness and run back into the light?_

He hadn't tested his speed force for almost twenty-four hours. Every time he felt the surge of energy skim into his blood and make his heart accelerate faster, the throbbing pain had yanked him off balance and forced him to feel weakness. The weakness of a defeated soldier wounded by his failures and hardened guilt. Some part of him, felt used like a puppet on strings or a caged hamster on a wheel who was forced to run over and over until he felt the burn out. In reality, he was a slave to Harrison Wells obsession of kinetic energy and the principles of challenging laws of physics. Maybe it was best for him to say in Washington, train with Steve and the rest of the Avengers. He had made the choice to run in order to spare the lives of his city—he was unsure if he was a milquetoast-a coward- or a hero of sacrifice.

Shaking off remnants of betraying betraying emotions, Barry dragged his muscled form across the kitchen with slow, somber and unrushed steps. He felt useless. Taking little effort, he opened the fridge door, grabbing a water bottle off a shelf. Twisting the cap off, he drained the bottle, and crushed the plastic into a ball, throwing it carelessly into the trash can across from him. Tension made his jaw flex, his teeth grinding. "Just who am I supposed to become?" he questioned under his breath and felt degraded by his mistakes.

"Did you ask permission to raid Captain America's fridge, kid?" Alarmed by the sultry tone echoing in the shadows. Barry blinked the fog of grayness out of his eyes. He turned slightly around and stared at the intruder. At first his hand clenched into a fist until he spared a glance of vibrant red. And there she was the infamous Soviet operative who had defected from the Black Widow programming of Department X—the great weaver of identities—Natalia "Natasha" Alianovna Romanova.

She was sitting at the rounded oak table, sipping a cup of coffee with her toned legs crossed. She was dangerous, beautiful and alluring. Long scarlet ringlets of hair framed her pale face and draped over her trim shoulders, sharp features and he watched her full lips curve into a dark smirk of uncompromising malevolence.

Barry caught a glance of her choice of practical and yet effective attire. Black and flawless leather. A deep maroon top with a V that revealed a faint peek of skin was underneath her half-zipped jacket, and curves smug in the stiff denim of her jeans. She wasn't holding back any of her brazen snark. Her grayish eyes gleamed as she met his widened blue eyes. He felt the world tilt around him. "Wait," Natasha spoke with as her memories recessed. "Are you that kid in the red suit who Steve picked up at the Lincoln Memorial?"

Intimated by her presence, Barry felt a weak smirk slanting his lips as he answered her invasive question. "Yeah. Although I don't remember the car ride," he returned, with a sheepish almost hesitant pitch in his rough voice. Causally, he shrugged his shoulders, trying to relax and show no signs of anxiousness. A cool expression plastered over his chiseled and ashen features and then realization dawned on him-the master assassin and lethal combatant was one of Steve's closest partners and hard core Avenger. He accepted her trust with a bit of hesitation.

In truth, he was almost in aghast at how poise and collective she seemed to a complete stranger. He took a moment, and drew out a shaky exhale. "Everything that transpired in the last few days still seems like a blur. I remember running after getting shot," he felt the words halt in his chest, and his brows creased into a perplexed scrunch. "...and waking up in Captain America's apartment."

Natasha leveled her curious gaze at his trim and sculpted abdomen, access droplets of rain water dripped over the creases of firm muscle under his dark blue shirt, Barry shifted uncomfortably, and leaned against the granite counter. He pressed his palm flat against the edge. It was obvious that he was nervous under her shadowy presence. A crush was weariness forced him to meet her beautiful eyes. He saw the obscurity of pain trapped beyond the green and teal swirls of her guarded stare. She smirked a little, giving him a glimpse of her hidden emotions. "I have a question for you, kid. You can answer it when you feel comfortable, but then if you don't answer it how will I know that you can be trusted and not cause harm to Steve Rogers..."

This was utterly unbelievable. Barry kept his distance, now engaged in a stare-down with Natasha, and he choked up a breath. "Listen," he spoke, sternly, and inched closer to her with purposeful and driven stride, much like the imposing movements of super-soldier. Natasha was having a difficult time not to break her focus from him. Swallowing down a breath, Barry felt a relieve pulse course in his system-a jump start of ignition. She was there to distract him from the nightmares. Probably when he was jogging, Steve called her to watch him while the captain was doing a mission with the Avengers. Feeling calm for the first time in days, Barry looked steady into her eyes, he felt the heat erupting in his veins. She could sense his vulnerability and distress. She had in trapped in her web, a young man pure and innocent. In other words, he was the Black Widow's prey.

Barry searched in her darkened eyes before he spoke out a promise, "I will never hurt Steve Rogers. He saved my life and I will return the favor if he ever needs me to make that sacrifice," He didn't avert his gray eyes from unpredictable red haired spy. He stepped closer, and whispered in a gentle tone. "You can trust me because I know what betrayal of a friend feels like and pain. It has become a part of my life ever since I watched my mother..." He trailed off, turning his head away. "It doesn't matter what you believe. Just know that Steve is my friend."

She furrowed her eyebrows. "...Is that the honest truth, Barry Allen?" she asked, her voice tight.

"Yes. That is the honest truth. It's all I have to say in the matter, Miss Romanova," Barry returned somberly, with a faint smile beaming over his face. Apparently, he was considered a threat, he had to assure Natasha that he was nothing of the sort, but a good kid searching for a lot of answers of his stolen past. The spy looked like she cared about the details of his circumstance, just to have a clear understanding of the main reason he decided to befriend the super-soldier. He looked so timid...Unsure. Lost. Natasha wasn't use to see a confident and humble young man trapped in the interwoven shadows of regret.

She had experiences in the Red Room, but most of the soldiers had altered minds to reveal little emotions; Barry on the other hand carried everything with him. It was almost like, he absorbed other people's pain, and give them a chance to feel again. It was gift that wasn't created from a bottle or DNA enhancing chemical. And Natasha controlled the urge to assault him with a her carnal hunger when her eyes swept over the fullness of his inviting lips.

Thoughts were fleeting and heart pounding faster in his chest. They were meeting the other on equal terms of trust. "Look, you don't know me enough to judge me." he countered as edge crept in his voice. " I consider Captain Rogers as my greatest childhood hero and fiend. Sometimes that all we need to have as strength in desperate times. I learned through experiences that when you have someone watching your back...You can do the impossible." He paused momentarily, inspecting her distant emotions, and then he dropped his eyes to the floor as he added, "So why would I risk that, Miss Romanova?"

Natasha nodded, "I know Steve trusts you. He sees something of worth that resides in you, Allen. I never question Steve's instincts. He knows when there is a good man in darkness waiting to be pulled back into the light." She stood onto her spiked heels, and closed the distance between them. "You're very lucky to have Captain America as your friend...Not the mention, you are very cute."

Feeling warmth blossom under his cheek, Barry's face flushed. The storm inside him subsided and he stepped back. "I didn't realize the Black Widow..." He cleared his throat, a touch of dizziness washed over him. And he became unbalanced. Breath came out short, as she gripped his wrist, preventing him from stumbling and he felt blood rushing downwards as he continued to stare at her. Eyebrows raised and his eyes grew brighter-almost the same color of Steve's light azure eyes. A wry and heaved laugh managed to escape from his lips. He felt steady again. "What I was trying to say..." He was completely lost from words and the intoxicating fragrance that wavered off her skin made him feel bizarrely enslaved by her. He needed to think of a simple distraction to tame the urges that had threatened to consume his chivalrous nature. "Would you like a milkshake?" he asked, breathing easier. "It doesn't take me long to whip up one. Just tell me what you want-want blend with the ice cream?" he stammered.

"Relax, kid," Natasha smirked, lightly. She looked down at her Starkphone. "Steve is on his way. He's bringing pizza. Four boxes."

Barry leaned back against the wall with a heaving sigh of relief. "Steve already knew that you in his apartment?" he asked, unsettled. Natasha nodded and waltzed right pass him and opened the fridge. After long moments of watching her gathering cans of ice tea from a shelf, a calming sense returned. He straightened his posture, and settled his eyes at her. "Look, Miss Romanova, I didn't mean to react to you like that...It was just because I'm..."

Natasha gave him a pointed look, reading his fractured expression. "Don't worry about it, Allen. It's how I like doing first impressions."

"Captain Rogers told me that you are SHEILD's lead interrogator...You know how to read people much like my surrogate father Joe does for the CCPD." he replied, biting down on his lip. "He always knows when someone is innocent even though the courts sentence them to prison. He believes that good can be found in people who consider themselves bad...He believes in second chances."

"Not everybody gets chances like that, Allen." Natasha said. She handed him a can of ice tea. "Your surrogate father sounds like a man who has lived a tough life."

"Joe was the one who put the handcuffs on my dad that night when my mom was murdered by a monster in a yellow suit." Barry confessed, opening the can open and took a large sip. "I spent most of my life trying to prove that my dad is innocent. I feel like I failed him...That I could of done something different and prevent the knife from entering her heart."

Natasha clicked her heels closer, and placed her hand on his tensed shoulder. "You know the real truth, Barry. One day it will be unmasked."

He looked up at her, uncertain how to react at first. In those moments, he remembered the hope he had once felt, commitment and pledge he created when he put on the mask and became a symbol of light to pierce the shadows, a symbol that represented everything good and impossible and he owed his father a chance of redemption while surviving and seeking out the truth, It had been his only purpose in fighting for justice, but now he was allowing his enemies to devour his existence and push him down until he was broken.

Inside, Barry was willing to fight and give it his all and endure the heavy costs. He was the Flash. A man that outrun evil and saved lives in a heart beat. "My dad told me once that the Flash is a hero that my city deserves. Sometimes he is unwanted and considered a scapegoat for the police to use when secrets need to be swept under a rug...He also said that he is proud of me and that it is a tough way to live, but someone has to make those choices when no one else can make."

Natasha smiled, faintly at his words, "Steve will help you overcome this pain. He knows what it's like to lose someone close to him...He can train you to fight against the grief-"

The door opened and Steve walked inside, soaked and disheveled. His broad arms held four cardboard boxes of steaming hot pizza. "Sorry, I'm late," he spoke apologetically closing the door behind him. He removed his baseball cap, mussed blonde hair stuck to his forehead and his crystal azure eyes became fixed on Natasha leaning against the fridge with Barry standing across from her.

"So what do you think of our new friend, Barry Allen?" he asked with a bright voice and cast a look at the disquieted young man locked in his view.

Natasha shot him an darkened glare. "He's a nice kid," she replied, winking at Barry, "Reminds me a lot of you, Rogers..."

Steve inhaled deeply and stared down at the pizza after he placed the boxes on the table in front of him. Feeling the weight of the responsibility to protect Barry had influx and overshadowed his own guilt of failing Bucky. Having the speedster as a friend gave him a new purpose to hold the shield and enter the crossfire...in a way he knew that Barry Allen was a saving grace to bring him back into the game and do his utmost to restore his brainwashed childhood friend from HYDRA's corruption even if the price became a high cost to pay.

"I'm glad you think so, Nat," Steve answered and he followed her gaze."When Barry is fully recovered I will be training him at the Avenger's Tower."

Barry felt like his heart jumped through his chest. He was bewildered. "Really?" he nearly choked, his eyes widened with excitement. "I'm going to learn how to fight with Captain America as my teacher?"

"Just the basics in hand to hand combat. I will teach everything I learned while under the command of SSR," Steve grounded out. "You will become stronger and we find a way to control your emotions while engaged in battle." He opened the box, and lifted a piece of pizza, the melted cheese was string as pieces of mushroom toppled off the slice. "Right now, we'll focus on getting your strength back."

"Tomorrow," Natasha reprimanded and she snagged a slice from the box. She flashed a smile at Barry who mirrored her mischievous sneer." "Both of you are going to have a litte race. Whoever loses must arm wrestle with Thor in front of the Avengers."

Steve stiffened his jaw, and then looked at Barry. He felt his stomach clench. "I've got no plans in the morning," he said firmly, taking a bite of the pizza.

Natasha brushed her lips hotly over Barry's smooth jaw and she whispered out a dare, "Whoever wins gets to a play a different game with me..."

He didn't say anything. Banishing all the inkling thralls of pain and took a quick bite of pizza. Swallowing down the chuck of thick cheese and bacon. He grimaced. _ Just please...Let me make out of this alive._


	5. Chapter 5

**{5}**

* * *

Coldness solidified over his lips. Barry lowered his body into spiriting position, he balanced all of his weight on one leg; gritting his teeth, he felt the pain residing in his lower, bruised abdomen. Wincing as his body decried for rest, Barry managed to steal a glance at Captain Steven Rogers: he was dressed in a dark navy blue Avenger's hooded sweatshirt and track pants; he'd aligned his bulky frame parallel to Barry. His spiked blond hair was ruffled, unkempt and his light azure eyes were gleaming with icy flecks of cold steel- the unyielding, daunting and unyielding gaze of Captain America—the First Avenger.

Taking in a lungful of air in his lungs; Barry became highly aware that the lethal and ethereal Natasha Romanova was watching them, the red haired spy sat indignantly on the hood of her sleek black Corvette; casully sipping a thermos of hot chocolate which Steve had whipped up back at the apartment, while she scarlet ringlets twirled against her ivory skin, and draped over her keen obscured teal eyes.

"Focus Barry," he chided in his frigid breath, feeling his stiff muscles protest against the strain."Don't be a showoff in front of Natasha," he pushed away those invading thoughts of impressing Natasha. It made no sense of crushing on her, it was obvious that she had deep feelings for Steve, the way he had been with Iris—_unspoken_. Every waking moment was filled with the constant thoughts of Iris, he was using those reserves of hope as a distraction, always stirring in the depths of his subconscious.

It was endless torture, to feel his heart bleeding, especially when he saw her sitting at the Coffee Bean with Eddie and the hidden truth of her dark eyes were like siren call every time he looked past her masks and found the beautiful, strong and stubbornly independent woman he had loved since he first walked into Joe's home—but she was in love with Eddie, and he couldn't tamper with her happiness, regardless on how much he cherished her more than a friend.

He needed to run. Shifting his eyes back onto super-soldier, Barry felt his lips curl into a smirk, "I'll try to match your pace to make it an even race for you, Cap," he lightly teased, feeling his blood recharging in his veins. His knuckles cracked as the cold ground penetrated against the soft flesh of rigid palm.

"Thank you, now I feel more assured that might have a chance of beating the fastest man alive," Steve joked back, with an even a drawl, even though a hollow laugh emitted from the back of his throat.

His focused eyes burned into smoldering blue embers of determination and relentless fire, the broadness of his jaw squared, and his lips pressed into a thin line, the currents of the serum began to surge in his veins; he recalled of his heightened-enhanced speed; he felt the adrenaline rush coiling in his mass of thick, sculpted muscles as each tendon flexed under his clothes.

Gathered up a deep breath, Steve leveled his firm stare on the young man, and planted his gloved hand against the snow coated cement, "Stay on my right, son," he spoke with authority rising in his firm voice. "... and I'll stay on your left."

Barry nodded in response, his eyes flickered with red charges of energy—almost like intense red lightning.

"Okay, on my mark..."

"Maybe you should get a head's start," Barry offered, heaving out a steady breath, amused that Steve was glaring at him with a patronizing look. "I'm just trying to be nice." The Speed Force glowed in his gray eyes, his bones turned to fire, heart sped out faster as he a took a second to cherish this moment with his childhood hero and one of the greatest men he'd ever had a honor to know in his lifetime:Captain America.

As he closed his eyes, Barry listened to the pounding of his heart—his greatest strength—resounding in his ears. For some reason, he was breaking into a sweat, and breath seemed ragged. The pain was still idle in his mid-section. His skin became flushed, but he wasn't backing down from the challenge. When he felt the vibrations of Steve's voice telling him to run...His eyes snapped open and and the speed coursed through his body, he took off like a bullet released from the chamber of a gun, leaving a jet stream of red and a dumbfound super-soldier behind him.

The ground beneath his feet rumbled with the aftershocks he kept sprinting, forgetting about the pain; the world became a blur and Barry felt himself coming alive-admonishing the thrill of running into the white vortex of snow and ice.

"Son of a gun," Steve panted, curving his lips into a weak grin. He felt the air slice over his skin. He edged forwards to the remaining energy, his feet driving into the ground as he mustered up the full extent of his athleticism, blood pulsating faster and body spearheading through the wall of snow as Barry zipped ahead to the finish line, he couldn't beat the young man's enhanced speed or resilience.

In the moment Barry had blazed down the trail, Steve smirked and paused, his blue eyes fixed incredulously on the red streak piecing through the snow; he pressed the comlink lodged in his left ear, "Well, Nat, what do you think of the kid?"

"The kid's good...Really good." Natasha returned smartly, with an impressive smirk crossing over her lips. "Now, if he can pick up Thor's mighty hammer, he'll be an Avenger by the end of the week..."

"Yeah, I know. The kid moves like a speeding bullet," Steve intoned with an astonished timbre in his wavering voice; falling specks of snow brushed over his chiseled stoic features.

He felt discontentment singed with vexation as he watched Barry halt at the end of the path, moving with clambering steps to the cut of barren trees. He clenched his jaw, against biting wind, and released a breath, "We need to keep an close eye on him, Nat if HYDRA's top thugs discover that Barry is apart of the Avengers."

There was a gravity of unsettling wariness in his voice. Something felt displaced in his core, the situation could turn dire if he didn't keep both eyes open.

Steve had to protect Barry; keep him under the radar and away from the public. The Avenger's Tower would serve as a safe haven for the young speedster, but the uneasiness residing in his gut was paramount, and he needed to search for answers—he need to become embroiled in Barry's past and leave his team left in the dark.

Considering his options, Steve narrowed his eyes down, his brow creased into hardened expressed and his fist clenched. "He'll be a marked a target...an obsession for Strucker's inhumane experiments," he warned through clenched teeth, a look of a heated glare shone in his eyes; he blew out a frustrated breath. "I'm not gonna risk his life, and let HYDRA claw their way into Central City." His stern words held an edge of defiance as he looked at Natasha from afar. "Call Maria, tell her we need information on STAR Labs. Something just doesn't feel right in my gut."

Natasha smacked her lips together, sourly. "Well, I'll let you worry about that, Cap," she played out, smirking darkly. She slid her lithe frame off the car's hood, smacking her heeled boots on the frozen cement. "Now, if you will excuse me, old man, I have go give the winner a victory hug."

Steve shook his head, she was torturing him with degrees of manipulation; and he had to walk away. "Stay close to him, Nat," he ordered, firmly. He pulled out his mobile phone, and quickly sent a text into Sam Wilson's mailbox. "There's something I've gotta do."

"Let me guess, duty calls for the super-soldier," she prodded, with an indignant tone. Her eyes darkened in the moment her teal eyes stared at Barry sitting on a mound of snow. "Don't worry, the kid and I are going to have some fun."

"Just keep him standing, Nat, and no vodka," Steve adjured smugly, glancing at her slender body sauntering through the clusters of trees. "I mean it, Natasha. I want him alert enough for training tomorrow."

"Relax, Cap," Natasha echoed back, with a hint of snark. "I'll keep him under my shadow."

"That's what I'm worried about," Steve retorted walking away, his boots thumped sternly and his braced his hands pockets.

Moaning out a noise of anguish, Barry swiped his hand over his frozen lips, looking down he noticed a fleck of red smeared over his knuckles.

His features went slack, and his eyes hazed over as feverish wave clashed against him, and he felt sick—he was tasting a coppery tang of blood. When he caught Natasha's ablaze of red hair in his view, he straightened onto his feet, and smiled back at her, pretending that every was fine, despite his dizziness and sense of feeling utterly drained. He needed to show that he was strong for both her and Steve. "Hey," he dared, quirking his stiff lips into a bright smile. "I'll race you to the nearest Starbucks?"

Natasha cocked her eyebrow up, feeling blood heat in her veins. "You're on, kid..."

* * *

The nightmares slipped away. Everything around him became swallowed in a vast gray haze of morning light. The scent of brewing coffee permeated the apartment, lulling him to recall his strength at matching the pace of his heartbeat.

It seemed impossible at first, almost a vague taste of living in a surreal world. He was miles away from Central City, spending his days hiding under the shield of Captain America and regaining his will to fight the demons of his past.

He had lost trust within himself, allowing emotions to consume his heart when the tension of battle struck him down. He had craved for a chance to redeem his failures and to find another reason to get back into the game. Sacrifice had kept him barred. He made a difficult decision so that a family wouldn't have to undergo the same tragedy he endured for a lifetime in being haunted by recurring memories.

Barry took a deep breath, willing his mind away from the ridges of his dark memories. He stood in front of the wall-mirror in the guest room; he allowed his passive gray eyes to drift over the darkened area of the closet, fixing his intent gaze on the heap of red gathered on the floor boards. His suit...a symbol of the impossible—of speed and justice.

While staring at his suit, Barry's hand absently dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled the tarnished golden heart-pendent that belonged to his mother. He used to keep it underneath his pillow when he was haunted by nightmares. It was the only valuable of his family he still carried; one that he had managed to salvage when the boxes were packed and the house was stripped and left hollow. Many of times he had run back there, searching for remnants of the truth that wasn't thrown into the evidence bags.

It always led to another dead-end that left him nothing but heartache. He had to let the pain go, let the remorse and vexation slip out of his bones. It was fifteen years of grieving and searching. Chances were offered to him through scholarships—to move to England for apprenticeships and rebuild his life. Release. He couldn't focus on those regrets, he'd clung to the threads of grief and allowed his scarred heart to bleed.

Feeling the breath hitching in his lungs, Barry receded a step back and quickly grabbed a wrinkled black shirt from the floor, unaware that he was being watched by a pair of keen and observant eyes in the shadows of the hallway. Momentarily, he straightened his posture, feeling the coils of muscle of his compacted abdomen flex as the bleak white light streaming from the window laved over his firm skin.

Drawing out an unwavering groan, he pulled the shirt over his head, feeling the jolts of energy surging in his veins as his pectorals rippled and created static against the thin material covering his exposed skin. He leaned into the dresser and took another deep breath, absorbing the sight of the endless, crisp blanket of fresh snow that had piled over the vacant street and parked vehicles.

Snowflakes whipped against the glass as the rapid gusts of wind blew icy clusters in between contortions of branches from the barren trees along the curb. Everything was still and held a somber, yet tranquil resolve—almost like a calm before the storm.

Barry felt a bit displaced, knowing that he needed to return back to his city but hesitation rattled in his chest. He tore his gray embers away from the outside world and briskly moved out of the room, keeping his gaze fixed on the floorboards. He moved until he collided with a smaller but ample body.

"Hey," he gasped in a moment of surprise as his bones jostled at the impact. Blinking, he regained clarity and found himself staring into vibrant mussed scarlet locks bundled into a messy pony tail. She was wearing one of Steve's hooded sweatshirts and frayed jeans.

He dreaded to look down at her toned, ivory skinned thighs concealed under the denim. If there was ever a clearer distraction it now stood in front of him. "Whoa, Natasha," he stammered, feeling intimated by her elusive and beautiful pretense. "I'm so sorry, I should've—"

"Not a morning person, kid?" Natasha returned lively, her alluring teal eyes steady on his faltering smirk. She casully stepped closer to his proximity, allowing him to feel the heat radiate from her lithe body. Her hand was edging over his chest, breaching his speeding heart. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah," he said, with a softer pitch in his voice. His eyes flicked up to her steely gaze, her fingers waltzed over the visible wrinkle of his shirt. He felt his senses coming alive, and gave her a gentle smile of regard before he slipped away, keeping himself distant. "Uh…where is Captain Rogers?" he asked, darting his eyes over the collection of framed photographs of the Howling Commandos aligned on the wall.

He couldn't be certain, but it felt as though Natasha were trying to pull him into her weaves of seduction that she would use to acquire information-a useful skill of the venomous, cunning and efficient Black Widow. 'Why are the beautiful ones the most dangerous?' He couldn't help but think. He had to keep his guard up around her and not allow her to infiltrate.

He looked at her with a harden stare, showing no weakness under her unpredictable, coy demeanor.

"I…I'm guessing Steve's in the kitchen preparing us big breakfast?" he asked, keeping his distance from her.

Natasha curved the fullness of her lips into a faint smirk, she was a master of utilizing the complex nature of her duel identities, without the tiniest of rifts breaking her unreadable semblance. She had studied Barry Allen's behavior and mannerisms in social interactions—from the way he fidgeted with his hands when he was nervous, to the droll yet awkward beginning of his sentences whenever he wasn't sure what to say. He was almost an open book.

"I take you're not a cereal guy who likes to have his morning fix at a fast pace?" she pried, her voice held a cool edge. "Unless you do prefer the old fashion home style cooking from the 1940's, since that is what the old man's cooking for you."

Hearing the snark laced in her low tone, Barry felt heat pooling into his flushed skin; a sheepish grin managed to etch into his face. He shrugged a little, knowingly, she was trying to downplay against his defenses. He was taught to treat a woman with all measures of kindness, and never turn his back on her. His grandfather gave him lessons in morality, to justify the values of trust and compassion.

His ethical sense of right and wrong was indomitable and naively unyielding while his heart was the greatest strength he used to grasp onto courage when doubt threatened to make him fall. He would take the time to assess someone's pain and try to help them heal. He was a sincere and earnest gentlemen. His mentor was Captain America—the man who would never run from a fight.

"I like anything that tastes good. Even the simplest things." He settled his unwary eyes on the print of a Captain America war bond poster. "...sometimes even the old fashion ones."

"I can see you're following in Cap's footsteps, learning the ropes, the ethics and values that you don't often see today... It won't take long until you even sound like him..." Natasha cleared her scratchy throat obstructively. "Good boys in uniform never have fun..." She teased, holding her lips into a rueful smirk. She crossed her arms securely over chest, holding his even stare. She seemed unbreakable. Resistant. Immune to the cold threadbare of pain.

Her views of the concept of humanity were in the gray shaded areas of choice and emotion. People died, all because of choice and holding onto attachment that bound them to little things that exposed their vulnerability. Natasha had many walls to conceal the damaged that resided in her heart. Barry could see right through her mask, that she could easily bleed if the wounds dug in deeper, beyond flesh and bone. "You want to feel more alive, Barry, take a few risks, instead of allowing yourself to become obedient do a world that is beyond saving. That's the only way you'll survive."

"I wish it was that easy, Natasha," Barry released dismal sigh. He shifted involuntarily, feeling his heart descending into the clashing waves of his uneasy stomach. He leaned against the doorway, pressing his palm against the frame molding, and tapping his fingers, chewing on his bottom lip. It felt like he had splinters of ice piercing his skin; a constant sting reminded him of his bereavement. The trauma haunted him. Every night those memories chased after him. It was really painful to fight them on his own.

"All my friends tell me that it's time to move on—that I can't change the past." Barry dipped his disquiet eyes to the floor, trying not to expose his trepidation to her. "What happened to my family isn't something I can leave behind me. Every day, I'm searching for another piece of truth that will lead to my father's innocence. That's all I want, Natasha. And I will keep on looking for answers until the yellow suited monster is brought to justice by my hands," he avowed, with an calm breath of resentment, trying to show his defiance against the torment.

Natasha kept her composer guarded and collective. "Most of the monsters that we fight are people we wouldn't expect to have a dark side," she whispered with husky tone, and leveled with his, not breaking contact. "What happened to your parents wasn't your fault. Don't blame yourself for unpredictable circumstances. Things happen that we can't stop, you just pick yourself and let the scars fade."

She closed the distance between them, placing her hand on his chest, staring into the energy surging in the depth of his passive gray irises. Intense lightning pierced the darkness of his pupils as she sensed the ignition of something powerful pulsating in his veins, grasping onto every nerve ending, and making his heart accelerate faster. The Speed-Force he had called it.

She couldn't care if he denied the truth, he was stuck in a painful void that had kept him barred from embracing the happiness he deserved. He needed to be saved. Steve was the only one who could pull him out. Barry needed a friend who would his shield when he raced into the storm. "You saw something that night that changed everything you know. Whatever it was, it also changed whatever boyhood dreams you had for your future...Tell me what you saw, Barry."

Finally, Barry opened himself to her. Obviously, he still didn't trust her, but he was willing to give her a chance to come into his world. He looked steadily into her eyes and pressed his lips into a tight line, grasping onto the hints of sentiment in her cold gaze. "I saw the impossible happen in a few seconds." His voice dropped into a low octave, almost broken and threatening to crack, "I remember watching streaks of energy that clashed around my mother who was screaming out my name. Then, a whirlwind of red engulfed me and…" his expression became somber, a wetness collected in his distant eyes, "I was running with energy, until I woke up on a street blocks away from my house."

Natasha stared at him, watching the strife etch over his chiseled visage in a fleeting succession of vastly different torrents of agony. He looked defeated, the scars of his past were clear as bullet wounds, like his body refused to mend. He tried to explain more, but the words remained cemented in his throat. Bitterness was rising and he stood there, unbalanced, gazing at her emptily, silent—almost haunted.

"Barry?" she asked, concern surging in her voice.

Suddenly, he was assaulted by increase images that invaded his mind. There were tantalizing fragments of memory, weaved into knotted threads of guilt. They surrounded him; dark phantoms, gravestones, an encroaching storm.

Red and powerful bolts of lightning devouring the sky and emerging from every chasm. Each one struck him hard. Agony flooded his veins and thunder rattled through the dark storm front powerful and deafening. His heart. Running. Running faster through the red haze of rain, struggling to fight the pain, struggling to find his way back home.

Desperation rattled through his bones and he saw the shattered reflections of the man in yellow—the inhuman monster who stabbed his mother's good heart—emerging from the jagged pieces and reaching to drag him into the spiraling vortex.

Feeling another jolt of pain, Barry became unsteady on his feet. His muscles clenched against ripples of tension. He crashed onto the floor, landing on his back and releasing labored pants of breath. He couldn't process what had been consuming his system when the bullet embedded his mid-section. The logical part of his fogged mind registered that it had to be some foreign bio-weapon or a panic inducing toxin that his body couldn't dismiss.

Natasha dropped to his side instantly and whipped her head around, looking down the hall. "Steve, get down here!" She ordered firmly, listening the clutter of dishes echo from the kitchen.

She rested her hand on the young man's forehead; his skin was clammy and hot. Her fingers kneaded over his rakish brown hair as she remained relatively calm, despite responding to the distressed gasps emerging from his paling lips; attempting to slur out a few words. He convulsed violently on the floor, every breath was a ragged struggle to produce. Barry was drifting; lost within the barriers of his mind, fighting against the flames of torture he felt burning in his chest. 'What's happening to me?' He thought as Natasha's hands slipped through his hair.

"Barry needs medic attention!" she demanded as she slid her finger down his neck, checking his pulse. "Call Clint. Tell him to get the Avenge-Jet down here. I think the kid's been poisoned—"

"Natasha—" Barry heaved out a breath, the pain was overwhelming. He grasped her arm; his eyes were dimming into pale color of ache. "I'm sorry we didn't get to run—"

"Don't worry about it, Barry," Natasha said calmly, wrapping her hand behind his neck and watching his face fracture into a semblance of pain. She gently stroked her thumb over his jaw, trying to soothe down his distress. "Just calm down and try to hold onto—"

"Natasha," Steve's concerned voice crept behind him, she turned and saw the super-soldier fully dressed in a winter coat, his vivid azure eyes hardened with worry. He lurched closer to his injured friend, dropped into a squat and encompassed his massive palm over Barry's head. It seemed irrelevant. Barry was breaking out of his remissions of pain, the toxin was increasing in his veins and he was falling into a stupor. It was seizing and weakening with the imminent sickness.

Steve drew out an evened breath, not allowing the vexation to assail in him. He had lived with the fear that another friend would die because he hesitated, but he also knew that Barry was a fighter.

"Barry, listen to me, son, I am going to carry you out here and we're going to bring you to Stark Tower." There was no response. Steve lowered his head, registering the shallow breathing. "C'mon on, son, we're gonna to get you fixed up."

"Steve," Natasha interrupted tersely. She fixed her eyes onto the super-soldier, clasping his wrist that seemed like a pleading touch after he gently eased Barry's limp and leaden arm off the floor and draped the limb around his shoulders. "I know he's just a kid...We can't lose him. He needs to get back up and find a way to save himself from the past," she swallowed the iciness of the Black Widow, holding Steve's halcyon gaze. Fear for Barry's life had interwoven into a knot of dread. Doctor Banner had to save him. Although, she had only known him for a short time, she felt a pure and untainted connection—almost to say she was like his big protective sister. "I trust him, Steve. Barry deserves a chance to live without hiding from the pain."

"I know, Nat," he returned with a stoic composure veiled over his angular chiseled face. "I need you to believe that Barry is strong, and he won't give fighting. We need to protect him. Whoever shot him will be coming back for him."

Steve lifted his hand, and stroked his fingers through her scarlet curls. It was soothing, real and almost assuring. His lips was a fraction of a breath to graze over her jaw, he felt the softness of her skin tense against the heat of his breath.

"Whatever's going on, we need to be one step ahead. When Barry needs us to fight, we'll be at his side. I know you're worried about him, he'll come around stronger than before. I promise, but we need to show him that he can trust us, and that means you need to believe that you can become his friend. That's what he needs, Natasha."

She nodded, despite the harrowing situation arising under her gaze. She ran her fingers over Steve's knuckles, looking deeply into his blue eyes with agreement. She refused to protest, but she was definitely troubled. "Okay."

"He's my friend too, Nat," Steve whispered, curving his lips into a knowingly weak smile. His light eyes steadied on her as calmness became welled into his unvarying, confident azure irises. He was on the brink of feeling his own emotions slip out of the guarded exterior of his heart. He considered Barry as a little brother and created a war inside him, knowing that the young man's life was now in his hands.

He had to seize hope again and ride out the storm. He had to save Barry, not because he was obliged, but because he made a promise once to a defiant soldier on the battle field in Northern Italy seventy years ago. That was when he realized that Captain America did have a weakness in that moment he held the dying soldier's hand on in the trenches and looked into the desperation and fear in his eyes. That man died a his determination, Steve's eyes flared with purpose. He quickly swept Barry's trembling body off the floor and placed him over the broad expanse of his firm shoulders in a firemen's carry. His hand fastened over Barry's leaden arm.

"Make a clear path for landing on the rooftop, Natasha," he ordered, his voice wavering into a raw utterance. His eyes leveled at the pistol hostler attached to her hip. "The jet should be arriving at the extraction point in a few minutes." Natasha straightened up and looked at Barry's lax face resting on Steve's shoulder, before she paced down the hallway in fervent steps. Steve trailed behind her and called out, "Grab my shield. I've gotta a feeling we're going to need it once we get outside."

Natasha retrieved the vibranium shield from the couch, slipping her thinned wrist through the metal bolted leather straps.

Looking down at the faded red paint of the alloy rings, she felt the weight of it growing heavier as she sauntered out of the apartment and ambled up the stairway._ Barry is strong. He will fight. He will win!_

She pushed the lever of the door leading to the rooftop. Looking down, she caught a glimpse of Steve's mussed blond hair as the bleak morning light shone through a cracked window. He was climbing the stairs with steady and unyielding steps, Barry's unconscious body was draped against his rigid shoulders.

Sighing out a breath of relief, Natasha smirked faintly and listened to the repulsor turbines of the Avenge-Jet's engines hovering over the ledge of the roof. Clint was waving to her from protective glass of the cockpit. She knew that Barry was in safe hands...For now.


	6. Chapter 6

**{6}**

Spheres of red tangled in weaves through her mind. It seemed unlimited to control. She was reborn in the darkness, by a choice of vengeance. Her body willing accepted the new power that surged through her wounded soul. Lightning pierced through her bones in those moments she endured the extraction of humanity, but the connection she shared with her twin wasn't diminished.

She felt him.

They prevailed against the violent storms of dark power ensnaring their bodies; crimson tentacles worming inside her detached spirit and filling her with venom. She had become dead inside, hardened to the reverent touch of warmth, and absent to the disjointed world around her. Chaos bled into her heart, feeding the rushes of unrestrained power. It was all that she craved to taste.

_...We're miracles to them..._

"You're not normal, little girl," She opened her grayish eyes to the discarded pieces of wood, barely shards that were scattered on the stone floor. Instinctively she wrapped her scarlet shawl around her trim waist, and followed the shadow of her keeper with cautious steps through the darkened corridor. She refused to trust the man known as Harrison Wells, just by studying his impassive and calculating semblance over his thinned visage. He looked average to reflection, but inside he was something entirely different, almost like he was wearing another man's skin. She detected a form of malice surging within him, but also containable power that seemed unknown.

"Wanda," he called her with the birth name that her parents had given her. "Do you know why you're meant to become feared in this world full of error?"

Despite, being considered a blessing to their war torn homeland, to Doctor Wells, the twins were merely vessels to store concentrated—mutated power that would plague their blood with unbridled strength, speed and enhancements with kinetic energy. In other words, he wanted to perfect them into weapons—loyal assets against the true parallel nature of the speed force. At the moment of observing the family embrace in their impermanent joys, he sought the parents as a removable obstruction.

After the Cold War ended, he resided in Sokovia for twelve years, relishing in the gravity of arising terror and destruction, his debased and brilliant mind wanted a glimpse of what the world could be without justice and four virtues of human error.

To him, Wanda and Pietro were victims of experimental succession; not average children to be loved and cherished in the embrace of their parents. Across the world, in a small neighborhood in the heart of Central City resided another orphan, a victim of necessary circumstance. It became ideal for him to obtain succession, enforcing grief on the chosen subjects in order to extract weakness in linked chain of mortality. With so many limitations to achieve his true goal, he allied his skills and intelligence with a dark force that thirsted for power—HYDRA.

"It's because I'm a monster," Wanda accursed, looking dismally at the red pulse of energy gliding over her pale knuckles. Her eyes flashed with molten embers."A witch."

"Perhaps you have been considered to carry that name, but I can assure you that the only monster that you should fear in here is me... With the power that you can control, you can turn it against your victims and make their deepest fears come alive." He gripped her hand with false tenderness, feeling her desperate needs. He wouldn't evade her. "You're not a curse, Wanda, but a perfected miracle; rebuilding matrix to human will."

She saw it all..._Hatred and envy. Pain and sacrifice. A car crash. Two lovers and a demon in yellow, replay in the furls of her mind. Death came to them, and a soul was drained into a husk. A woman screaming as a knife went into her heart. Lightning flashed red and yellow. A unstoppable force of speed._

_'Run, Barry-Run...'_

All of sudden Wells gripped her wrist, forcing her away, shattering the nightmare as pain sliced through her. "What did you see?" he demanded viciously with unhinged rage teeming in his voice. Wanda fought against his possessive hold, he was hiding the nefarious truth—he was that demon. "Tell me what you saw, little witch?"

Wanda had seen the other side of a mirror, and she felt...A new connection. Hope against darkness. Purity that existed inside of red flares; raw and visceral and powerful. Her soul was attached within that vortex.

_She reached for that sailing energy, listening to thunder merging with a racing heartbeat to the anchoring release. Her whole body collapsed into the shadowy void, light faded away. A beacon was lit, not for her, but for this boy that was crying on the inside. For this still moment that gave her a reason to fight. She wasn't alone...Her soul was chasing this...Barry...She wanted to see him, but he could only grant her that freedom._

"I saw a storm clashing in your mind," Wanda finally responded, her tone dipped into a bitter edge to mirror his spite. She didn't look at him. There was noxious aura wavering from him. Poison stirred in his veins, devouring all that she felt as he eased his grip and allowed her to reel back exacting her powers to his control. She desired to astray from his wrath, search for the boy and unite their connection. "You hold greed for power that you can't take, unless you destroy all obstacles that keep you from claiming it...You want that boy...You want to harvest him and rip out his heart."

Wells nearly sneered at her revelation, approaching her shadow with threatening steps. "Perhaps I miscalculated the true potential of your powers, Wanda." He paused lifting his hand and slowly aimed at her chest, the urge to phase his hand into her chest was potent to restrain. The coldness of his touch ghosted over her skin. She was a captive to his will, frozen at the sight of his fingers obtaining speed. "You need to learn what true fear is in order master it..."

* * *

_"Mommy, please wake up," His trembling hand caressed over her sallow cheek, feeling the coldness penetrate through his fingertips. Flashes of red reflected in his teary eyes in those distressing moments as the voices of the policemen deafened in vacuous haze. He was listening to the frantic paces of his speeding heart. Tears blurred his resolve as he tried to regain clarity on his mother's lifeless face._

_He sensed the harrowing presence of the monster in yellow; he knew he was there, but Barry couldn't see him, the shadows created a barrier that made the speed demon unreachable. His eyes only beheld the aftermath of yellow streaks, invasion, drops of blood and broken glass._

_Feeling his heart thumping against the feverish swell of constant grief, Barry squeezed his hand into a fist, crushing his knuckles against the wood. The pain overwhelmed him. Flares of anger—red and violent—made tears burn in his eyes as he looked down at his mother's soulless eyes, knowing that she sacrificed her life to save him. The knife lanced through her heart, taking her blood. And he felt sick and frightened. His stomach churned into knots as tears flowed against the ache of a shattering heart._

_He was abandoned from his family—from the love that had embraced him every night, security and boundless happiness. All those wonderful things were gone._

_It was just him kneeling next to a vacant shell in the darkness as he felt the cold possession of grief leaving him unhinged to grasp the tentative hope that seemed reachable._

_"Bear," Joe's fatherly voice echoed through the hazy of tears. He was standing behind the distraught boy, keeping his distance. "I need you to come with me...It's no longer safe here."_

_"Where am I gonna go, Joe," Barry sniffled, lowering his head. "I've got nobody else to run too..."_

_"Hey," Joe crouched down to his level, placing his large hand firmly on Barry's shoulder. "You've got me and Iris...Your parents left me as your guardian in case something bad happened. Right now, my home is the safest place for you, but if you want to take some of your things with you, that will be fine. I already talked to the captain about that..."_

_"It's not fair, Joe," Barry said, his voice held a slurring pitch of remorse. His mind felt disjointed and damaged as images of the man in yellow haunted the depths of his strength._

_Inexplicably, he was fighting nightmarish apparitions of yellow, chaotic lightning. His innocence was very resilient against the barest thoughts and torments, but...This monster had ensnared his will. What was the reason for murdering his mother and destroying his family?_

_There had to have been a reason behind his motives that seemed undeniable, pulsing in his bones and permeating the light of a child's mind._

_No matter what had been done to his family, Barry was holding onto the unfurling undercurrents of searing vengeance beneath his pure heart or whatever was left of it...There was no way to describe what he felt or deny the torturous battle that possessed him._

_His world had ended. Just like that, everything was taken way. And there was no way of reclaiming what he lost from those damning memories. No, he was vulnerable to become easily corrupted, to make a definitive choice that could lead him to a dangerous road, if he decided to chase the red eyed demon in yellow._

_"Tell me this is nightmare..." Barry sobbed, almost drowning in disbelief as his small hand graced over Nora's cold knuckles. He didn't look up at Joe; it was hard for him to digest the pain. "That when I wake up... she'll be here."_

_He wanted to believe in that. Joe did as well, if the semblance of grief etched in his modest features was any indication, the truth—false hope—seemed far away. With another sniffle, Barry dared a glance over the smears of red of his mother's blouse, scarlet and crimson. The colors he vaguely remembered seeing when the vortex of yellow and red flares sped around him, except the red carried no presence of dread—but comfort and strength. "Bear," The gravity of Joe's voice greeted his subconscious, pulling him out._

_Barry blinked and turned his watery eyes to him. "I saw a monster in yellow. He was fast." Something wedged in his heart, he felt breathless as tears fell. "The monster was fighting red lightning...A force that saved me, but not her."_

_"Listen to me," Joe approached with tentative steps, he eased down to Barry's level. It was obvious that the boy couldn't discard his agony. No child should ever witness those horrors, but somehow he knew that Barry would one day rise above the grief and resolve his closure._

_He drew out a heavy sigh, and placed his large hand firmly on Barry's shoulder, holding warmth there. "It's not fair what happened to your mother, Bear, I don't even know if it seems possible to believe...A terrible wrong was done here and you feel like everything has been lost because of it, but you have a family that will show them that you're not alone in this fight."_

_Those words stroked the anger and frustration brimming at the surface of Barry's heart. Joe saw the light of innocence dimming, if Barry continued to hold that inside and begin a war of consequences and vengeance, then Joe would lose his surrogate son, just like he lost two good friends. He had to shield Barry._

_Orphan. That was the one word Barry didn't want to say._

_He wanted his mother, but it was impossible...the man in yellow had taken her from him._

_"I've gotta fight the impossible, Joe" he whispered, darkness shadowed over his weepy eyes. Pain roared in his regained height, standing firm in divide of his mother's body and the remnants of shattered glass. Barry knew what he could be capable of if he willed it and used the intelligence of his father and compassion of his mother; he could devote himself to spare lives, to make sure young kids would never have to experience this nightmare. The silent emptiness assailed into embers of heat and red flares._

_What he had to do wasn't going to be an easy fight, however, he would sacrifice his dreams to find the truth and give his innocent father freedom to live as an honorable doctor once again. It was his defining choice—a heart's pledge to fight for innocence—to prove to himself that he wasn't a coward anymore._

_He wiped the wetness off his cheeks, and met Joe's passive stare. His posture became reserved, unshakable as he made a soft declaration to the emptiness of his home, hoping that the monster would hear the strength of his voice echoing in the shadows. "I'm gonna fight to get my dad back...I will find the man in the yellow suit, because I will do the impossible."_

* * *

Barry awoke to feeling of pressure generating in his abdomen. He couldn't move. Everything was hard to process. He was tangled in a sheet, his back arched against a cushion that felt inclined. He was in the Avengers Tower infirmary, shackled to an elevated bed. The cold metal latched over his wrist preventing him from siphoning his speed. He knew Natasha was near; she brought a sense of peace—an equal connection that he had never shared with anyone before. It seemed inevitable to believe. He knew that she had been there the whole time he underwent the operation.

He could still feel Natasha's hand gracing over his bandaged skin, giving him calmness as the pain reared inside his depths. There was something different stirring, red flares obstructed his vision as he fought to regain clarity, not fiery embers, but energy that carried an intense and mystic presence in the shadows.

Each flare grew stronger with his pulse, dominating his soul as he felt a distant pain that seemed vague to understand—the agony of grief and vengeance that haunted him anew. He couldn't grasp a clear image, hardly a silhouette as he tried to brace himself against the intrusion, before he fully welcomed those vestiges of daring and powerful connection penetrating in his heart, almost like how lightning pierced through the sky. That strength merged in his veins, currents of energy called him to a reckoning, and he watched with firm intent as the handcuff links separated from his skin and broke into pieces.

He saw a wash of shadow cloak over a young woman, trapped behind glass. Carbon plating that was invisible and hard to phase through. Her eyes glowed with livid crimson, hidden underneath unruly strands of brown hair—her face was pale from the lack of sunlight as she wove her fingers methodically into the air, twisting and controlling the red flares and breaking pieces of wood as tears streaked down her delicate and thinned features. She was in pain, fighting the darkness that seized her as pulses of vengeance sped through her.

Barry felt every vibration. The rawness of her pain. There was something he could relate to that wouldn't assail. Something familiar...Encroaching and parallel. A relentless awakening in the fathoms of shadow. He sensed it equally, the reckoning of blights devouring purity—innocence.

He wanted to explore deeper, find this beautiful mystery and save her from that dangerous void. She deserved freedom, not the asylums of isolation. Even though he couldn't touch her, something merged with his soul—an eliciting surrender to grief. This girl was a victim of transference, butchered to become a slave, to harness limitless power and destroy lives. Barry knew that she was searching for a demon of her own, not a man in yellow, but a titan in metallic red and gold armor—Iron Man. This unsettling remorse directed to the billionaire genius—the mind of the Avengers. He was her reckoning.

_...You're not alone..._

Another flare weaved around his heart, unhurried to the motion of the world. He was frozen in time with her, standing inches from her cell as the labyrinth threatened to consume him.

_It was nearly inescapable, the force weighting against him; pushing him closer to the glass wall. Moments became seized by gravity as he took in the sight of the enthralling beauty trapped on the other side. Once Barry obtained a clear perspective on her visage, he realized she wasn't like everyone else; her petite form was clothed in a black corset lace and a red shawl cascaded over her arms. She was dressed almost like a medieval gypsy, mythic and dark-but he wasn't driven by fear of her. She wasn't a terror, just lost and waiting to be found._

_"Hey, I'm gonna find a way to get you out of here," He swore, easing his hand over the glass, with a desperate attempt to reach her. A cold rush of dread spiked in his veins. He spun involuntarily to expose the unknown threat. He froze. Blood pumped faster with surges of energy and curiosity as he glanced over the clutter of tables. Something was in there...a phantom approach. His gray eyes trained on the looming shadow, evoking the same pace of a heartbeat, as he felt vibrations riddling in his bones. Barry's focus settled on a deformed hand of tar reaching to phase into his chest—to pierce his heart. "What...No..I gotta save her."_

_"She's not going anymore, and neither are you, Flash."_

_That's when he saw it. The blue flares of violent energy that lanced into the darkness. Then, his breath was stolen, he was pinned against the glass, obstructed from her, as soulless black embers bled underneath a demon's face. Gloved fingers left traces of tar over his chest as a pulse of hate skimmed torrents into his blood. He felt drained, almost harvested by the unrestrained monsters thirst for power—chaotic storm. Barry couldn't fight, the sharp dissonances of screams, the pain and rage, it crushed him, compacted him to fall deep into submission. "You will feel this nightmare soon. Everything that you are will be mine to take."_

_Joe. Iris. Cisco. Catlin... Steve and Natasha. His family—friends. He had to fight. Run faster...Charge through the storm. No matter how pain will strain against his heart, he would fight for their freedom._

_He found his race. "You can try, but you wouldn't win!"_

_The demon snarled viciously at his unyielding declaration, and coiled its clawed fingers around Barry's neck, hoisting him up into a choke hold. Its tarry eyes glanced back at her, a weapon of opportunity to unleash his true control, as the connection was growing stronger with Barry. She would serve as the monster's little puppet of vengeance to tangle in strings...until it will rip them apart. "If she escapes then I have already won this race, Flash."_

_Barry jerked his weight violently, relenting with all reserves of strength as he was slammed against the glass. Everything felt transferred, chains rattled in the darkness and screams became distant echoes. This was a nightmare being ripped open, all the images he conceived bled out as the claws dug into his skin. Gasping for a pant of breath, Barry wrenched a fist into the chest of his captor, knuckles rolled against inky armor and grazed muscle. "I-I'm gonna stop you." He choked out a dribble of blood, hot tears streak over his paling face. "You will fall..."_

_"No...They will fall once a new creation is birthed from their ashes."_

_A flash of blue lightning blinded him, and he was no longer in that shadowy chamber, but trudging over a barren crater in a strange realm, red seeped into the cervices. Heaps of lifeless bodies were scattered in the mist. Invaders loomed high above; alien creatures devoured flesh and broke apart bones. There was no light—everything was consumed by darkness. It was the aftermath of a war. So much death...Innocent lives buried into aches, only glints of bullet and arrows remained intact. "No..." He looked frantically around the rocky wasteland, searching for...the Avengers._

_Once he caught a glimpse of bodies mounted on a high peak of stone, he felt gravity forcing him down. The mightiest heroes were defeated—butchered as sacrificial prey._

_Everyone was dead._

_The Hulk was frozen into stance of a gargoyle, speared with metal spikes that pinned him to the rock. Natasha was laid on the edge, her bruised face turned to look directly at him; teal eyes glazed with lasting tears and soulless. Clint was slumped a level below from her, his vacant body positioned limp, arrows lodged into his back and head bowed down. Webs of blood slid down his biceps and over his bow. Iron Man's suited armor was hollow and Thor was laying on his back, like a defeated king. They were all collected trophies, waiting to be taken from the one who conquered this battle._

_In a seize of his manifesting devastation, Barry slammed his fists into the ground, the pulses of untamed rage energized and tore into the rock, creating a rift to slice through the surface._

_"Where's Captain Rogers?" His desperate breath came up into a torn hitch as he glanced frantically through the darkness until his resolve found a harrowed glimpse of a body clad in blue, laden against an outcropping wall of stone. Pieces of the alloy from the Avenger's indestructible shield were broken into halves ensnaring reflections of starry light and guiding his stare towards Captain America. "No-No," he chanted breathless, and pushed all his weight closer to the fallen Avenger. Steve's body was broken, the spangled uniform held remnants of ash as he laid flat on his back, motionless._

_Evidence that the Captain was the last one to fight—to give it his all, but he sacrificed his life to save the world. Barry's eyes widened as he crawled to the soldier's side, reaching out to grasp Steve's hand. The presence of dread plagued his rampant mind. Torrents of memory of his mother's death raged in his subconscious, the agony seared through his bones and left his soul to unravel._

_"Is this a glimpse of what will happen?" he questioned in a faint breath, his voice drowned by the thunderous cacophony of robotic leviathans shadowing above him._

_With the monstrous speckle mirrored in his teary gaze, Barry possessed a measure of unrivaled defiance to search for the speed demon; anger was loitering in his veins. He won't surrender to this nightmare. It was a paradox to fight, everything he saw felt real enough to believe it was a possible outcome of a choice of error."If I chose to run?"_

_'Is that what you always do...Flash?'_

_The illusion of panic grew electrifying in his blood, and he stared frozen in stupor at the blood embossed over the slate blue material of Steve's tattered uniform. His shaky hand attempted to rest over the star, wanting to feel a strong pulse. His lips curled into watery grimace in those seconds he pressed two fingers over the throbbing vein of Steve's neck. This wasn't the end. "You gotta be alive, Cap," he urged in a breathless sob, not removing his hand. Pain compacted into his chest."The fight isn't over..."_

_Steve's eyes snapped opened automatically as life recharged within him, blue surges of energy struck his limp body. His bruised lips parted to drain out a choking gasp. He seized Barry's wrist with a pulse of his strength pounding against the clasped bones as the young man alarmingly recoiled back. "Run Barry..." Breath wheezed with desperate hitches as he regained a voice. "Save us...Don't look back…Just keep running."_

_"I don't know where to go, Cap," Barry returned dismayed, holding the Avenger's hand, refusing to let it slip back to the ground. The light receded from Steve's blue eyes, darkness glazed as blood leaked from his nose and ran over his lips. He died. Bluish fractals of ice solidified over his skin, almost like ice was threatening to encase his body again. "No...Cap...Stay with me!"_

_'Avenge us...Save the world...Fight for her.'_

_Barry wrenched his teary gaze away from Steve's desolate face, in order to breathe. He roved over the others, all of them gone—dead. A dark laugh echoed overhead, and Barry jolted to his feet, defensive. Sitting on a levitating throne was a purple skinned titan, wearing a golden gauntlet with glowing stones replacing knuckles. He was the monster who caused all this chaos and death. The destroyer of the world._

_The deafening noises of war silenced, and Barry felt the clash of inevitability gauge through his marred soul. Flashes of pain blinded him, as he fell into an abyss of endless white, a different juncture of time. Blinking against the contrast of light, he saw a shadowy form into a man, standing on the edge of the icy ridge._

_The face was unclear to memory, almost distorted. Long strands draped into a wolfish mane over his broad shoulder and a sheen of metal formed into his left arm. He held Captain America's broken shield, with immense reverence. Behind him was that beautiful woman in cell with crimson eyes, and in her hands was a small toddler clutching the red leather cowl of the Flash._

_'Promise me that you'll avenge us, Barry...Carry on the fight with her.'_

* * *

Wake up, Bear...Wake up!

The last waves of the fever receded, and he felt a cooling relief pressed against him.

"Barry," He heard the familiar husky tone lulling him back to consciousness, it became a sluggish process to relent against. He escaped from the nightmare, safe and under the protection of the Avengers. Everything so distant to construct, his temples pounded with heavy compression; but the gracing touch of her hand eased him into calming simplicity. His heartbeat was measured with steady pulses with no holds of tension as moments passed and the ravaging tempest he fell into faded.

He was greeted by laves of sunlight, warm and golden. It was just a nightmare—a division of life and death. He had emerged from the coiling fathoms, but never lost sight of those illusions. None of that seemed to become granted with a reckoning. The world became silent, bereft of everything he experienced in the void. Unbidden curiosity of that girl left him reeling for answers that he couldn't stow away.

"Barry, can you hear my voice?" A moan tore from the back of his disused throat. He peeled his eyelids half open, still trying to get a fair clarity of sight. Vibrations were subtle and light as he finally the red haze receded from his vision, and everything melted into blurred depths as he set a resolve on russet curls blazed with fiery streaks, and the angelic face of Natasha Romanoff grew into focus.

She was mounted at the bedside, her hawkish teal eyes were reserved with an impassive glance; and her lithesome frame dressed in leather. She carried a sisterly vibe and her demeanor causal and shot up against the reclined cushion, only to feel pinned with entangled wires tucked under layers of dampened bandages. She grounded him with simple assurance as Barry noticed her hand planted on his shoulder.

"Tasha," he managed to strain out her name, in a heavy intake of breath. Their gazes traded, Natasha offered him a weak smile, and her grayish eyes narrowed at his abdomen. The bullet fragments were removed thanks to Doctor Bruce Banner's steady hands, and the poison extracted with a transfusion containing a sample of Steve's blood. He was in process of healing; the resilience he carried doused the pain as his chapped lips exhibited a dopey smirk. "How long was I out this time?"

With tentative effort guiding her hand, Natasha reached to caress his knuckles. It did seem right to touch him; she felt a strong bond that she never was permitted to accept in the past. Barry was like a little brother to her—someone worth to protect and safeguard from danger. She had opened a piece of her heart to him, granting him a sense of assurance.

These were relative moments that she needed to feel. Even if the bond was not permanent...She had to remain at his side."Don't tell me that you're keeping a record, kid?" she teased back, with a hint of snark and refused to entertain the thought of his discomfort. She leveled her stare with his light gray eyes, watching his struggle to grasp onto relief. "How are you feeling?"

His throat was aching. It wouldn't avail. "When I'm not moving," He winced, his muscles clenched into knots. Pressure still lingered over the stitching. "It doesn't hurt as bad, I'm not saying that it's comfortable, but I want to thank the doctor for removing whatever was left of the bullet inside of me." He smiled brightly, sliding his hand over the gauze. "I'm pretty sure that it wasn't easy—"

"No, it wasn't..." Barry shifted his eyes into the direction of the deep baritone echoing in shadows of the hall. Steve was there, dressed in a plain black sweater, the material sculpted over the expanse of muscle planes and his jeans hugged at his V shaped hip line. As he stepped into the light, Barry noticed a strip of gauze over his right forearm; evidence that Steve had given his blood for the transfusions.

"You were lucky..." The commanding presence of Captain America was evident in his tone. With a shift of unease, Steve trained his slate blue eyes intently over the young man's bandaged torso. "That hit you took was almost unshakable. Doctor Banner managed to extract the bullet while you took a nap."

"Yeah, excessive healing is all part of the speedforce package," Barry lightly joked back, trying to mask another wince carving into his paled face. Nothing seemed to deceive the Avengers who both locked their perplexed gazes onto him for a logical explanation for his accelerated process of healing—not the unfathomable truth about his nightmare.

He literally couldn't dismiss the harrowed images of the fleets of alien ships and Steve's lifeless face. He couldn't accept peace for the horror show he recently envisioned wasn't something to stow away. It was a glimpse of a dark apocalyptic future and everyone's fate rested on a choice.

"The energy that gives me speed creates a reaction that causes the chemicals in my body to merge and restore damages, at a rapid and efficient rate. Whatever I was shot with back in Central City must have breached those defenses and affected my usual heightened resistance to toxins."

There was a strained remorseful hitch in his tone, but he did well to drown it with a faint sheepish grin. He was reeling back into the interweaves of the nightmare that extended further into his heart. "I guess my body just couldn't burn it out."

"Rest up," Steve dismissed, the depth of his baritone leveled with measured authority, but also the warm concern of a valued friend. As he exchanged an even glance with Barry, he involuntarily shifted his weighted form back to the door, echoing out another order. His large calloused fingers gripped over the steel frame, pausing in his steps, he could sense that his friendship was evolving with the younger man, Barry carried a spark of charming defiance, much like Bucky Barnes did; he was hell bent on fighting and too stubborn to admit his pain. Mostly, he was pure of heart. Steve wouldn't let anything douse that fire out. "I want you ready for training tomorrow. We start early."

Barry nodded unabashedly, he knew the penalty for lack of discipline; he even had the vivid fading of scars on his back to prove it from Oliver Queen's excellent marksmanship skills in surprise attacks. "Aye-aye, Cap," he saluted back at Steve, effortlessly. Training would become vital when preparing for the end game; he needed to harness of all of his true strength of willpower and mind to outrun the speed demons and save that young woman from the darkness. He had to chase the ravaging storms and catch the red lightning...He had to become an Avenger.

With an ounce Captain America's blood running through his veins, the weight of future lessened on his shoulders. In a silent declaration that seemed only a whisper against his soul, Barry made his unbreakable vow: _I will fight for them._


End file.
